


If She had Loved Him

by PrincessTripsy



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Hope, Love, Romance, Trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-10 21:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18416018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessTripsy/pseuds/PrincessTripsy
Summary: After the newly-discovered talent Christine Daaé  replaces the Prima Donna La Carlotta in the Opera Populaire's highly anticipated gala, she is swept up in a world she could never have imagined. Suddenly the center of everyone's attention, Christine has caught the eye of an old childhood friend, though time has warped him from the gentle boy she had once known.  Yet, even as Raoul de Chagny attempts to win back the heart of the girl he dreams of making his, he finds his attempts challenged by the strange masked man that lives beneath the opera house and his even stranger connection with young Christine Daaé.





	1. The Gala

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I've been super unsure about posting this story here. I've been bouncing the idea around in my head for a few weeks, but I think I'm just gonna go for it. I mean...it might be kinda cliche and you might have seen similar story lines before, but what the heck am I right? What's the worst that could happen? 
> 
> This is an old fic of mine from that a finished back in 2014-2015, back when my username was still something I created when I was like...10 (Shella DragoNoid, for those that may have been curious). It may not have aged very gracefully, but still. Giving it an update can't be THAT bad an idea, and having it at least archived on a bit nicer of a fanfic site will be worth it. If you're a huge Raoul fan, then this definitely won't be the story for you. Sorry! 
> 
> Any feedback is appreciated, and I hope you enjoy this somewhat cheesy, probably cliche old story of mine. :)
> 
> *Singing is bold and italicized.*
> 
> -PrincessTripsy

When Madame Giry had offered Christine Daaé as the replacement for the lead Soprano, La Carlotta, at the upcoming gala, Christine had been terrified. Carlotta, though a diva with a terrible temper and an even worse attitude, had been Opera Populaire’s lead Soprano for years whereas Christine, as Monsieur André had been so kind to point out, was just a chorus girl. The thought that she, of all people, could replace the world-renowned La Carlotta was silly. And yet, when she had stepped forward and begun to sing, the room had gone dead silent. Actors and stagehands who had disappeared after Carlotta's diva tantrum returned to the stage in awed silence to hear a chorus girl who had lived entirely in the shadows step forward and begin to sing like an angel.

After her unexpected audition, Christine found herself caught up in a whirlwind of activity. She was dragged right to La Carlotta’s large dressing room, three different costumers fussing of her hair and makeup. Seamstresses were working twice as fast, resizing what would have been Carlotta’s gown to fit Christine’s petite size. Madame Giry may have been at her side for a moment during the madness to whisper encouragement, but she had been quickly torn away. The ballerinas still had to be prepared for that night’s performance, especially since they were now down a dancer.

Surrounded by all of these people, Christine felt completely alone through every moment of it. She wished at least Meg, her oldest friend, could come talk to her, make her feel less isolated. And less afraid.

When her hair, makeup, and dress were finally done, the house had already opened. Guests wearing evening gowns and dinner jackets had flooded through the open doors, up the steps, and into their seats. Sooner than she would have liked, Christine found herself standing backstage, wringing her hands nervously. After a few moments of standing alone, watching the stagehands rush back and forth finalizing set pieces and ensuring the white horse was calmed and ready, Madame Giry approached her. This was the first true time she had been able to talk to Christine since she had given her over to audition as Carlotta’s replacement.

“Are you nervous, my dear?” Madame Giry asked, her eyes narrowed with compassion. The elderly woman hadn’t wanted to put Christine on the spot like she had - the young ballerina had become like a daughter to her - but she knew what great talent Christine had been hiding and that it was time for her talent to be discovered.

“Yes, Madame,” Christine answered honestly. “I’ve never had any real practice with the number for the aria and I’m an unknown voice. Everyone sitting out there is expecting Carlotta to be singing tonight.”

“You shouldn’t be worried, Christine,” Madame Giry remarked, placing her hands the girl’s slender shoulders. “Just remember what you have learned from your teacher.”

“But I don’t even have any idea who my teacher is,” Christine responded in exasperation. “How do I know what he taught me is what I need to know? Or that I have learned enough?”

“You must have faith, my dear,” Madame Giry smiled affectionately. “You will do well tonight, I promise you.”

“And if I don’t?”

Madame Giry gave a reassuring shake of her head. “You will do fine, and you will make him proud. I know it.”

“Mademoiselle,” a stagehand called, coming from the wings. He grabbed her arm gently in a calloused hand and told her, “It’s time.”

Christine cast one last, desperate look over her shoulder at Madame Giry before putting on as large a smile as she could muster. The curtains were drawn open and she swept forward with all the confidence she had, coming to a stop center stage. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the audience’s shock at seeing this unknown girl on the stage. This was not La Carlotta. This was not what they were expecting. This was not what they had paid for. Those that had not found themselves mesmerized by this strange girl’s beauty - the white dress and star barrettes in her chocolate curls caught the fire of the stage lights and chandelier above beautifully - were climbing to their feet in frustration, ready to demand their francs back. Then, she opened her mouth and began to sing.

_**“Think of me. Think of me fondly when we’ve said goodbye. Remember me once in a while, please promise me you’ll try. And when you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free, if you ever find a moment, stop and think of me.”** _

Her Soprano voice was beautiful and carried all the way to the back of the opera house. The high notes she sang came out clear and pure, her voice having been worked hard and pushed to perfection through years of study. It didn’t sound at all like Carlotta. Instead of a powerful operatic voice often causing the audience to sit back in their seats, this gentle purity drew them forward. This definitely was not what the people had paid for. In fact, many found themselves preferring this new girl to the one they had expected to see. Those that had started to leave found themselves in their seats once more, staring wide-eyed and wordless at this wondrous beauty on the stage.

The song continued and Christine found herself having more and more fun. As she reached the final chorus, she heard a voice call from above her. From a box that was normally left empty she heard a man call down, “Bravo!” He clapped louder than anyone else in the audience, and when she glanced upward, she saw him on his feet. With this encouragement, Christine found power and energy to end the song much stronger than when she had started.

_**“Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade. They have their seasons so do we. But, please, promise me that sometimes you will think… Aaah ah ah ah aaahhh. Aaah aah aah aah aaah. Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah aaaaaahhhhaaaa…. Of me!”** _

The aria finished. Before the last note had finished ricocheting off the auditorium walls, the audience had climbed to its feet, clapping, cheering, and whistling in support of this new-found talent. It was Christine’s very first performance, and she was receiving a standing ovation from every person in the house. Flowers were thrown onto the stage at her feet as the wave of applause washed over her.

Unable to keep the smile off her face, Christine bowed, their shouts of appreciation bouncing through her head.

The next few minutes, much like the rest of the day, passed by in a blur of activity. Dozens of people were congratulating her on a (surprisingly) job well done. Though she appreciated their kind words, she felt as if she were being crushed by it. Christine may have been in the limelight on stage and felt comfortable, but now that she had to meet with the audience and opera staff members face-to-face...her shy nature kicked in and she found herself uncomfortable and pressured under all of the praise. So, as soon as she found a quiet moment, she slipped into a back room and up a flight of stairs.

She fled to her quiet place. This was a room she had frequented throughout her time at the Opera Populaire, and one she believed not many could find as it had always seemed to remain undisturbed whenever she returned. Here, a picture of her father was waiting for her, set on an altar surrounded by candles. Every night before she went to sleep, she would sneak up here, light a candle, and pray for her father. She did this now, bowing her head and whispering a quiet prayer of thanks. Not to long after she began, Christine found herself being interrupted by a man's voice, whispering to her tenderly. _**"Brava, brava, bravissima..."**_

It slowly faded away, disappearing almost as quickly as it had come. This voice wasn’t the same as the man who had been sitting above her tonight; this man’s voice was different. It was gentle, tender, loving, whereas the voice from earlier had been powerful, encouraging, and proud. She gave a small smile, knowing who the voice belonged to. There was only one who had ever spoken to her in such a way.

“Angel?” she whispered happily. “Are you with me?” She didn’t need to ask. She could feel him with her now, as she did whenever he was near.

“Christine?” came a voice in response. It wasn’t the voice of her angel; this new voice was female. “Christine, are you in here?”

The man’s voice, her angel’s voice, whispered once more, “Christine…” then disappeared. Christine’s smile faded as his presence went with it.

As she looked around, desperately hoping to sense him once more, a young girl around the same age as her entered the room. She had long blond hair, pale skin, and sparkling blue eyes. The girl wore a simple white ballerina’s dress, and smiled when she saw her childhood friend sitting before her altar. “There you are Christine. We’ve been looking for you for a while!”

“I haven’t been up here that long, Meg,” Christine responded with a grin, masking her disappointment at the loss of her angel’s closeness.

Meg slid to the ground next to Christine. This young blonde was the birth daughter of Madame Giry, and Christine’s only true friend at the Opera Populaire. The two had become more like sisters over time, growing up and training together in the ballet corps under Madame Giry’s strict but loving care.

“It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been hiding away,” Meg told her with a loving smile. “You shouldn’t be disappearing up here so soon after the gala! You’re the star tonight, and everyone wants to meet you. You know what Mother would say.” She leaned in close and whispered, “Besides, everyone is saying that you’re better than La Carlotta. They think you should be Opera Populaire’s new leading Soprano.”

Christine laughed. “After only one gala? Meg, that’s ridiculous. Carlotta has years of experience on me, as well as talent.”

“Not according to our audience,” Meg responded matter-of-factly. “I heard one many say that you are the most talented woman he has ever had the blessing of listening to.” She turned and studied the picture of Christine’s father, putting the two into a long silence. “I have to ask Christine…” Meg finally began uneasily. “I’ve never seen anyone suddenly able to sing like that. You must have an instructor, a tutor of some kind… He _must_ be some kind of genius… Who is he?”

Christine hesitated before she responded. The only one knew about the angel that had been instructing her was Madame Giry, who seemed not to question the strange story Christine had told her so many years ago. But did she dare tell Meg now, at the risk of her friend thinking her crazy?

“I’m...not sure, Meg.” Christine responded, buying herself time to come up with an answer. She could feel her friend’s quizzical gaze resting on her. There was no easy way for Christine to explain this to Meg. She _had_ a voice teacher, that much was clear. Someone had to have coached her to able to sing like that. But even Christine, his student, had no idea who he actually was.

Attempting to explain as best she could, Christine continued, “All I know is that, before my father died, he made me a promise. He told me that after he’d gone to Heaven, he would send me an Angel of Music. This angel would be only my angel, and he would protect me, watch over me, love me when no one else would.” She suddenly stopped, realizing for the first time how special and private this was to her. Was she really ready to tell even Meg about her Angel of Music?

As Christine sat in silence, Meg tried to fill in the blanks Christine had left with her story. “Do you...do you think it’s the spirit of your father? Do you believe your father is the one that's coaching you?”

“I’m not sure, Meg, but…” She whispered, more to herself than to Meg, "Who else could it be?”

Before their conversation could continue, the door was thrown open and Madame Giry entered the room. Christine looked up at her with wide, shocked eyes as the door slammed into the wall. She had not seen Madame Giry look so frustrated with the two of them in quite a while.

“My dears,” she hissed impatiently, tapping her thigh with the black cane she carried with her. The black skirt of her gown to swished with each impact. Her long hair was braided and thrown over her shoulder, reaching to her thigh. It swayed as she moved her head from side to side, looking first at Meg, then at Christine. Her accusatory, hawk-like, gray eyes pierced straight through Christine, making the young girl feel ashamed. A flush of embarrassment reached her cheeks as Madame Giry continued, “You are both being looked for everywhere! Meg, you know better than to hide away after a gala. And Christine…as the star of tonight’s performance, you should most definitely be out greeting the people! I'd thought that I taught you both better than this!”

“Pardons, Madame Giry,” Christine responded, climbing delicately to her feet. She bowed her head as she went on, “I just… I don’t like all the attention…”

Madame Giry helped Meg up, giving Christine a small, sad smile. Her piercing gaze died away as she took Christine’s hand in hers. “I am sorry, my dear, but you best get used to it. If things go the way I am imagining they will, you will be receiving a lot of attention the next few days.”

Christine knew she was right. Taking a deep breath, she allowed herself to be taken from her quiet place and back to the entry hall where her new adoring fans were waiting to greet her.


	2. The Man in the Mirror

It was a long while after they left her quiet place that Madame Giry decided it was alright for Christine to disappear. Once she had the older woman's approval, she was led back to the lead Soprano dressing room by Madame Giry herself, who fended off any suitors attempting to approach Christine. She was very grateful for this. She did not wish to speak to anymore men wanting to court her tonight. When she arrived at her dressing room and Madame Giry left, Christine found herself alone for the first time in several hours. She collapsed back into a chair sitting in front of the large, pink vanity, heaving a sigh of relief. The quiet was a nice change after the hours of conversation. Her ears rang from all the voices, and her cheeks burned from the large smiles.

Christine closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them once more, finding herself staring at the reflection of one she hardly recognized. Her chocolaty brown hair, usually kept in check, was now out to its full poof, bouncing buoyantly on the crown of her head. It looked completely out of control and needed to be thoroughly brushed out. She had never before worn so much make-up, and felt that she looked more like a clown than the star of a gala. As much as she disapproved of her hair and the heavy make-up, she found that she had no complaints about the dress. It was nicer than anything she'd ever worn. The white, sparkling fabric fell in delicate folds and glistened in the candlelight. It was beautiful. Almost too beautiful... As much as she loved it, the dress was too flashy. It didn't feel like...her.

She reached up and started taking the starburst barrettes from her hair, feeling immensely tired. It had been a hectic day, and she was looking forward to being able to change into a simple nightgown and sleep the rest of the night away. As she pulled the last barrette from her brown curls, her eyes drifted down. There were dozens of flowers in the dressing room, all gifts from her new suitors. But there was one that drew her gaze right away. 

It was a single red rose, bright and full. Tied carefully around the emerald green stem was a ribbon of black silk. A small smile crossed her face as Christine knew exactly who had sent her this flower. In recent years, her angel had left them for her in her quiet place, a gift for her hard work during their private lessons. He  _was_ pleased with her. She felt tears in the corners of her eyes as she lifted the rose, feeling the ribbon between her fingers.

Suddenly, the door to the hallway was gently pushed open. Frowning, Christine called from the vanity, "You should have been informed that I am not receiving any more visitors tonight."

"Are you sure you can't make _one_ exception," came a male voice, "Little Lottie?”

Christine spun in her seat to face the door, her eyes wide, the flower falling from her hands. Standing just inside the dressing room holding a bouquet of pink flowers was a man she recognized instantly. Though his sand-colored hair was longer, now shoulder-length, there was no mistaking those blue eyes, those soft features.

"Raoul...! I mean..." she caught herself and took a quick breath. "Viscount de Chagny. I am honored that you were able to come support Opera Populaire's first gala under new management." It felt strange speaking to him so formally, yet she knew it was required of her.

She and Raoul had grown up together. The pair had been thick as thieves as children, and nothing could have separated them. She hadn't seen him since before her father died, and she knew things had changed drastically for both of them. Christine was no fool. They were no longer children, least of all Raoul. He had since inherited his family's money, and the title of Viscount. Whatever history they had, Christine knew she needed to show him the respect his title and station demanded.

Raoul, however, seemed to have other ideas. He smiled and told her, "Oh, Little Lottie, there's no need to be so proper. Not after tonight. Not after how you performed..." Raoul put the flowers on a table overflowing with bouquets. "You know, Little Lottie, I was surprised when I heard you sing tonight. I seem to remember when you were younger, you could hardly sustain a pitch." He gave a small laugh. "Now... I hear you may replace Carlotta as the lead Soprano."

"I will tell you the same thing I told Meg," Christine turned her attention to the vanity once more, watching Raoul's reflection carefully. "It is ridiculous that Messieurs André and Firmin would want to replace Carlotta after only one gala. She has been the leading Soprano here for nearly five seasons."

"Yet," Raoul responded, "you have more talent in one finger than she has in her whole body. At least now you do. I still remember your father having to plead you to get you to stop singing you were so bad." His laughed sounded almost harsh.

Christine brushed this off as playful joking, and not cold criticism and near mockery. From how she remembered, both her father and Raoul had loved to listen to her sing. "Viscount, that is no way to talk to a lady," she breathed, watching him more closely in the mirror.

The way Raoul stood, he seemed to fill the entire room. Christine studied his eyes, and realized that they were not the eyes she had known as a girl. The warm laughed had been replaced with a cold, sharp glint. Instead of gentleness, they burned with blue fire as they watched her. There was a yearning in hiding them, and something about it made her feel uncomfortable. Christine felt her mouth go dry.

"Forgive me, Little Lottie." Raoul came and stood behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You sang more beautifully than the angels." His grip on her shoulders was hard, matching what she was seeing in his eyes. He seemed almost...possessive of her. But that couldn't be. They hadn't seen each other since they were both so young.

Trying to seem as if nothing was the matter Christine grinned and responded, "Interesting choice of phrasing, Viscount, considering it was an angel who taught me." She shrugged out of his touch as naturally as she could, taking up her brush once more. Even as she ran it through her curls, Raoul placed a hand at the base of her neck, maintaining his physical contact. He seemed to tower over her.

"An angel?" he scoffed, disbelieving.

Christine could have kicked herself. _Why_ would she tell Raoul that? She hadn't even really been able to tell Meg, and she had been comfortable with her closest friend. Even though she was unsure of how Raoul was acting towards her, she had just spilled her deepest secret to him. And his response had been what she had feared. Not only did he not believe her, he seemed to think she was crazy.

He seemed not to notice Christine's irritation as he told her, "And didn't I tell you you don't need to be so formal?"

Wanting to steer him as far away from her angel comment as possible, Christine responded, "Despite what you may think, Viscount, you are still highborn and I...I am just a chorus girl."

Raoul took his hand from her neck and pulled her chair back. Christine gasped and the brush clattered to the vanity. He came and knelt in front of her, his eyes still burning. His gaze chilled Christine to the bone. "No chorus girl I've ever met could replace a leading Soprano as flawlessly as you. You are much, much more than just a chorus girl."

He took her hands in his, rubbing them with his thumbs. Christine knew it was meant to be a reassuring gesture, but it still felt somehow possessive, controlling. She wanted to rip her hands away, but didn't want to give offense to Raoul. So she let him continue holding them.

"Please, Little Lottie," he was telling her, "call me Raoul."

Christine bit her lower lip, but nodded. "As you wish...Raoul."

He gave her a tight smile and nodded his approval. "Perhaps it's time for you to change, Little Lottie. We should head to dinner now."

"Dinner?" she gulped.

"Of course, Little Lottie, we must celebrate our triumph."

" _Our_ triumph?" Christine asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Yes; yours in beginning to make something of yourself, and me... Well, I'm about to make a good investment, keeping this place open. With you headlining every gala, this place will make a fortune. And so will I, by extension." With that, Raoul climbed to his feet and started towards the door. She followed his progress to the doorway with disbelieving eyes. "You must hurry, Little Lottie, or the best restaurants will close. I'll be back in five minutes if you keep me waiting."

When he was gone, Christine turned to look at her reflection again, worry coiling within her. This _couldn't_ be Raoul. Not the Raoul that she had grown up with. _Her_ Raoul had been sweet and caring. This Raoul was cold, calculating, and something about him had disturbed her. Christine shook her head, trying to clear it. There had to be an explanation for the way he had spoken. Perhaps he was just under a lot of pressure. The arts were a fickle business at best, and he needed to ensure that he made a good choices with his money, that no one was going to trample over him. Christine imagined that they only way to ensure that was to keep a cold countenance, showing others you weren't going to just stand aside.

She smiled, starting to feel reassured by this. Once they were away from the opera house and at dinner, just the two of them, he would be able to drop his cold act and be the same Raoul she had grown up with. He just needed to get away from work was all. Satisfied with these thoughts, Christine quickly finished changing, eager to be off. She cleaned the stage make-up from her face and selected a simple white dress to change into. It was perfect for the weather and company she would be keeping that night. It was not too tight as to be uncomfortable or overly warm, but not too light as to be revealing or cold. She began running a brush through her hair once again, wanting to get it under control as best she could when, suddenly, the room felt colder, and she began to have the feeling that she was being watched.

Christine turned, trying to find the source of her discomfort. No matter where she looked, her eyes were continually drawn back to the large, full-body mirror standing against the back wall of the dressing room. Carefully, Christine started towards it, studying it closer, trying to understand why it made her feel so unnerved. She reached out a cautious hand and gripped the frame of the mirror, feeling along its edge. _Is this a...switch?_ She thought, her fingers finding a little button in the frame. Before she had the chance to press the switch in, a figure suddenly materialized before her.

Pressing a hand to her mouth and stifling a scream, Christine spun around, looking for the source of the reflection. But there was no one in the room with her. Turning slowly, she looked and saw the man again, standing on the other side of the mirror, closer. Watching her. Fearfully, Christine stepped back, tripping over the carpet and falling over. She shot to her feet and ran for the door.

Her hand had just brushed the handle when she heard him say, "It's alright, Christine; I mean you no harm."

Her breath went out of her in a rush. She knew that voice. That was _his_ voice. But...that was...impossible. "Angel?" she whispered, slowly turning to face him.

The man had entered the room through the mirror which had slid back into its frame, but he had come no farther into the room. Christine felt her breath catch in her throat as she took in his appearance. He wore a black dress suit and a floor-length cape whose inside she could see was made of white silk. His skin was pale and hair was shining in the candlelight. It was shining too brightly to be real hair. She decided that he must be wearing a wig. He also wore a strange, white mask that covered only the right half of his face. Christine almost didn't see the mask as instead she found his eyes, deep pools of green that, from the moment she looked into them, held her fast. She could not look away. There was a strange beauty surrounding this man, and Christine found herself thinking that he had to be the most handsome person she had ever laid her eyes on.

He watched her with the same fascination that she watched him with. They could not seem to look away from one another. "I am the one you've known as your angel," the man eventually whispered back to her. Even in this gentle whisper, his voice carried clearly across the room. He took a tentative step towards her, not wanting to scare her again. Christine did not move, to lost in his eyes to think straight. "Forgive me, Christine, but you are even more beautiful without all of that silly stage make-up. If only I could project your natural beauty to the audience without all of that paint..."

Christine blushed under his praise. If these had been normal circumstances, she would have felt uncomfortable being complimented in such a way by a man she hardly knew. _But,_ she thought, _I do know this man. He is my angel._ "You are the one...the one who's taught me?"

He nodded. "I wished to give you some small joy in your new life after your father left, and it was the only gift I could think to bestow. Music is a beautiful thing and can bring peace to even the most broken of hearts... I have waited for the day you would be able to share your gift with the world, and now that day has finally arrived. You have exceeded all of my expectations, and made me so very proud."

For a moment, Christine couldn't breathe. He was proud of her. Her teacher, her angel, was proud of her. She had thought as much, from the rose. But to hear him say it...it was beyond words. There was nothing that could have made her happier in that moment.

"Thank you, monsieur," Christine told him, feeling tears of joy in her eyes. "I owe you everything I have been given."

"There is no debt to be repaid," he told her with a small smile. It was so different from the smiles Raoul had given her. This was the exact opposite, warm and comforting. "But if you will allow me, Christine, I want to show you my world." He held a gloved hand out to her. "If you will come." His eyes silently pleaded her to say yes.

And how could she say no? This was the man who had given her voice wings and allowed her to fly. Now he asked her for one thing, and she knew (despite him saying there was no debt to be repaid) she had no right to turn him down. Not after the marvelous things he had given her. On top of this, her heart was screaming at her to go with him, that this was where she needed to be, and she was finding it hard to argue. Her mind tried to remind her of Raoul, but whenever she thought of him at the moment, she could only think of his coldness. Her angel was being warm and kind, and was speaking so gently to her. She would rather spend her night with him than with Raoul. Her mind made up, Christine closed the distance between herself and her angel and took his hand.

She could see the joyful light fill his eyes as she wrapped her delicate fingers around his strong ones. It made her heart swell to see his eyes light up at her. He led her through the mirror which slid shut behind them as she passed through.

A sudden memory came to her as she let her angel lead her down a long tunnel, one that started giving this man another name. Madame Giry had often told her stories as a child before she went to sleep to dissuade her from wandering the halls as night. One such story had been successful in keeping her in bed without fail. It occurred to Christine that her angel could possibly be the inspiration for the character in the stories, if not the character himself.

Her angel could also be the Phantom of the Opera.


	3. The Phantom's Lair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Singing is bold and italicized*

The story of the Phantom had been Madame Giry's favorite tool for keeping Christine and the other young ballerinas in bed at night: "Bad ballerinas who leave their rooms after lights out are taken by the evil Phantom of the Opera and never seen again," so the story went. "Some say he eats them, others say he keeps them locked in his dungeon for a while before he kills them, but either way, none of them survive their meeting."

Ever curious, Christine had asked, "What does he look like, Madame Giry?"

"Those that have managed to escape him say he looks barely human. He is more a skeleton than a man, with skin the color of parchment and only a hole where no nose grew. His fingers are claws, sharp and ready to tear. He lives deep under the opera house, and will take anyone he finds down to the bowels with him," Madame Giry had responded. "Do you want to be taken by the Phantom?"

Christine had shaken her head.

"Good, then you will stay in your room at night. He cannot get you as long as you stay here."

The story had done its job, sufficiently scaring her into staying. She hadn't wanted to be taken and killed, so obeyed Madame Giry's orders to not wander. As she grew older, though, she came to know the story was nothing more than that. A story. And yet, standing in front of her now was a mysterious man who was taking her down to the bowels of the opera house. He didn't look anything like Madame Giry had described, but she still had the nagging sense that this was the Phantom she had been warned about as a child.

Despite this new knowledge, Christine didn't feel afraid. This man wasn't just the Phantom. He was her angel, her teacher. He was the one who had made her what she was. She had the sudden urge to sing to him, to sing with him, a song that he had used to teach her. It was a song that managed to almost confirm her suspicions that this man was the Phantom of the Opera, but she didn't care. She only wanted her voice and his combined in duet now that she had a physical man to sing with.

So, she began to sing. "In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came. That voice which calls to me and speaks my name. And do I dream again for now I find the Phantom of the Opera is here inside my mind."

Christine had practiced this song many times, but never before had it sounded so perfect to her. The notes flowed from her easily, bouncing off the stone halls they walked down. Her angel turned to look at her as she began, a glow of pride in his green eyes and a smile on his face. Without hesitating, he came in on the next verse.

"Sing once again with me our strange duet. My power over you grows stronger yet. And though you turn from me to glance behind, the Phantom of the Opera is there inside your mind."

Closing her eyes, Christine smiled, letting the sound of his voice wash over her. This was the voice that had been in her dreams. It had been this voice, this beautiful baritone, that had turned her from a young girl with a gentle voice into a grown woman who could replace a lead Soprano.

He had led her down a large spiral staircase made of stone and to the bank of a large, black lake. Christine found this curious. A lake under the opera house? She didn't question it long, though, as she allowed her angel to lead her to a small boat sitting on the surface of the water, waiting for them. Her angel helped her get into the boat and sit down carefully. Once she was seated, he climbed onto the back and stood behind her, starting to push the boat along with a long pole.

Christine knew which verse came next, and she was beyond excited. This time, their voices would come together, blending beautifully as they always did. Taking a quick breath, she began to sing, her angel entering with her. "In all your fantasies you always knew, that man and mystery were both in you. And in this labyrinth where night is blind, the Phantom of the Opera is there/here inside your/my mind."

Their voices blended as flawlessly now as they had during her lessons. It made Christine's heart soar, finally being able to sing face-to-face with the man who had taught her. They reached a large gate that separated the tunnel they were in from what looked like a well-lived in cavern. The gate seemed to sense their arrival and began to rise slowly, though it was high enough by the time they arrived at it that her angel didn't have to duck. Entering the cavern, Christine looked around, wanting to take in everything that was presented before her.

Lit candelabras stood in the water and on the shore, giving light to the large room. Separate rooms branched off this main one, Christine could tell. Doorways were carved into the smooth stone walls covered only by burgundy rugs. There were busts in the shape of heads and faces all over the room, a black scarf covering one of their eyes, though the scarves were not all on the same side. Paintings covered almost ever wall, and the floor and tabletops were buried under pages upon pages of sheet music. Most interesting were the mirrors. Hundreds of mirrors filled the room from wall to wall, reflecting off of each other into infinity. A few were covered by the burgundy rugs, but most of them were left uncovered.

The boat had reached the bank by the time their verse had finished. Her angel jumped out into the water and pulled it up far enough on the bank that Christine would be able to get out without getting wet. Once the boat was pulled up, he offered his hand to her. She took it and allowed him to help her onto the shore. He steadied her when the boat rocked, almost sending her over the side.

"Angel," she whispered, speaking at last, "what is the place?"

"This is my writing room," he told her, "where I do most of my work."

Christine looked at him with a sorrowful gaze. "You live here? But why would you live in such a dark place?"

Her angel smiled softly. "It's not all bad. There's quiet and plenty of space, and no prying eyes trying to see..." he stopped himself, biting his lower lip nervously. "Would you like to look around?"

Christine nodded eagerly, and started moving away from the lake towards a small flight of stairs that led to a large writing desk. She could feel her angel following closely behind her, keeping a bit of space between them so she wouldn't feel threatened or uncomfortable. Smiling, Christine looked around her, taking in every detail. When she reached the writing desk, she turned to study it. Her breath caught when she saw a small model of the Opera Populaire stage. Standing on the stage in the white dress with sun-burst barrettes in her hair was a little Christine. A strange nervousness clutched at her heart. Seeing this stage made her feel the same way Raoul had when he had touched her. A feeling of possessiveness.

"What...what is this?" she asked, trying to shake the ugly feeling within her.

"This is my vision, and what helps me plan," her angel responded. He didn't seem to notice how nervous it made her feel. "It is how make sure everything is going as I want it to."

"As you want it to?" She turned to face him, and saw that his eyes were on the little stage.

"Those two fools who now run my theater...oh, what are their names...?"

His theater? She wondered. What she said was, "Messieurs André and Firmin, Angel."

"Yes, them. They seem to think that they are in control over what happens in this opera house. But, as I said before, they are fools. They know nothing of this place or the proper way to run it. I have lived my life under the Opera Populaire and I know the inner workings of theater management. For years I have been pulling the strings, making sure that we haven't gone under, yet still most of my advice gets ignored! If I had had my way, you would have been on that stage singing a long time ago," he explained.

A sudden realization washed over her. "Earlier today, the incident with Carlotta...the backdrop..." If he had wanted her on the stage for so long, and if he had grown impatient with the managers, he might have done just about anything to get Christine performing as the lead Soprano. "You did that? You dropped the backdrop on her?"

"Yes," her angel said simply.

Christine found herself unable to respond. He had done that?

Suddenly concerned with her silence he quickly spoke up, "I wasn't aiming to really hurt her. Just scare her off for good."

"I suppose, but…was it really necessary to do something some dangerous?"

"It was time, Christine," he responded. “You must understand. I have been trying for the last two seasons to get Carlotta out, but the small hints weren’t working. And with these new managers…I can feel trouble brewing with them.” 

As he spoke, Christine remembered overhearing all the stories she had heard the prima donna telling her seamstresses about strange notes she had received over the years. At the time, they had all laughed them off. But when the previous manager started getting letters demanding Carlotta’s replacement, they had known it was serious. The Opera Ghost had wanted her gone. The previous manager had increased the Opera Ghost’s salary, in hope of pacifying him, but even then the letters hadn’t stopped. 

Her angel shook his head. “It was time, Christine,” he said again. “Carlotta is past her prime. Her time is ending, and someone was going to need to fill her spot. I needed it to be you. You are my muse, Christine, the only one with a voice capable of performing my music. The music of the night."

The name sent a warm shiver through Christine. Her angel had been teaching her with his own compositions for quite some time. It was nice finally having a name to the hauntingly beautiful music she had been singing. "It’s fitting. Something like magic, just like the scores," she responded, watching him in awe. And yet, she felt a weight on her shoulders. He was expecting so much of her. Was she really ready? “I only hope I’ll do it the justice it deserves.”

He studied her face. "You already have,” he told her with a concerned frown. “Am I asking too much of you, Christine?"

"I... I’m not sure," she told him honestly. "I owe you so much..."

Her angel held up a hand. "I've already told you, you owe me nothing. I don’t want you to feel forced into something that you aren’t sure of. If you want to do this, it should be because you want to. Not because you feel indebted to me. Take your time to make your decision, Christine. I won't hurry you."

Gratitude filled her heart as he spoke. "You took all this time training me, teaching me, preparing me for this very moment. Years of planning and patience…and you're still willing to let me walk away if I wanted?"

"All I want is for you to do what you desire," he said with adoration, his eyes filled with loving light. "If this is not the path you wish to walk, then you don’t have to walk it. Not for me, not for anyone."

As wonderful as this all felt, Christine could hardly believe that someone would go through all of this trouble just to help her. "Buy why did you do it? And why me? I'm just a chorus girl. And the Viscount de Chagny..."

Her angel's face darkened at the mention of Raoul. Christine took a step back, worried she had angered him somehow. Noticing her reaction, he took a deep breath. “Forgive me, Christine. I don’t mean to frighten you. But the way that man spoke to you tonight. The way he treated you... I could tell how uncomfortable he made you, and he could as well. But he didn't care. That insolent boy..." He stopped speaking, turning his back on her. She could see his hands clenched into tight fists as he tried to calm himself.

Christine was shocked at how quickly her angel's emotions had changed. The moment she mentioned the Viscount, his gentleness melted into rage. He was furious, and Christine was worried that she had ruined their time together. Wanting to make up for it and hoping to salvage the evening, she whispered, "Forgive me, Angel, I didn't mean to make you angry."

He turned to her once more, his green gaze soft and without the rage she had seen before. "You have done nothing that needs forgiveness, Christine. In fact, I’m the one in the wrong. I shouldn't have let my temper get the best of me. Just thinking of how he behaved...how tried to take you like you were some prize..."

Looking him directly in the eye, Christine told him, "I would go nowhere with him."

"But you almost did."

A sadness took his eyes then, a sadness Christine did not think she could bare to see. She knew he was right. For all her brave declarations, if he hadn't come when he did, she would have gone to dinner with Raoul. If he had come just a moment later, she would now be sitting at a table with the Viscount instead of standing here before her teacher.

Fumbling for an explanation, Christine stammered, "I wasn't thinking...my soul was weak...I gave into him..." Christine's voice faded as the quiet fear of her encounter took wing and filled her. She finally voiced the thought she had had from the moment she truly saw what was hidden in his eyes. "He scared me." It was hardly a whisper, barely audible. She was staring at her angel's face, but she wasn’t seeing him. Christine could feel his eyes on her, but she could only see Raoul as she relived their meeting. "The way he looked at me...the way he touched me...it felt wrong. Like he wanted to claim me... I was so alone, so afraid, but I couldn't break away from him..."

Her angel then did something she hadn't been expecting. He pulled her close and wrapped his strong arms around her, resting his unmasked cheek on top of her head. The sense of closeness and warmth she gained from the simple hug was amazing. She fell against him and all of her fears melted away. Christine wanted to stay like that forever, but he let go. Too soon, in Christine's mind.

He started backing away from her, as if appalled by the fact that he had touched her. His eyes were filled with shame. Christine was horrified. Had she done something wrong again? 

"Forgive me, mademoiselle." He turned away from her. "I shouldn't have done that. I had no right to touch you without invitation."

"No," Christine quickly closed the growing distance between them and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't mind at all. It was what I needed. Thank you, Angel." She was glad it wasn’t her fault that he had pulled away, but a part of her wanted so desperately for him to hold her again. It was the safest she had felt all evening.

"Erik," he whispered suddenly.

"What?"

"My name...it's Erik," he clarified.

"Erik," Christine tried it. It sounded perfect. It carried the same mystery as the man who bore it. "That's a beautiful name. It's much better than me having to keep calling you angel all the time. I suspect you must get tired of hearing me call you that..."

He turned to face her again, wearing a small, sad smile. "I haven't heard my real name used in so long. I've always been..." He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but then decided against it. "I'm glad you're the one who will use it." For a moment, the pair stood in silence. Then, Erik held his hand out to her. “Would you like to see more?”

Eagerly, Christine took his hand and let him lead her onward. As she looked around her, Christine noticed what looked like a cabinet covered in a carpet a different color than the rest. This one was golden instead of burgundy. Something about that cabinet was different from the others, marked in its special way. She turned back to face him and asked, "What's behind the gold one?" Christine pointed to show him what she was asking after.

A look of doubt crossed his face. "I'm not sure you want to see that yet. Perhaps later..."

"What is it?" she asked again. Christine had no idea what made her so brave. Why was she prying so suddenly?

"Are you sure you want to see?" he whispered.

She nodded eagerly, then let him take her hand and bring her towards it. Erik sighed, then reached over and pulled back the golden cloth blocking her view. Her eyes widened in shock at what she saw.

A life-size model of her, hair and everything, was standing in the cabinet wearing a wedding gown. Christine felt her knees buckle and she fell back against Erik. The last thing she remembered before sinking into darkness was the feeling of him holding her close to his chest as he carried her from the room and his voice whispering, "I knew you weren't ready."


	4. The Mask

The next morning, Christine awoke in a strange room she didn't recognize. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was, and her heart raced nervously as she tried to place how she had gotten here. She looked around and found herself lying in a soft feather bed with a black and red silk blanket covering her. The room was small, but not cluttered. A little desk sat off to one corner with a chair placed in front of it and a bedside table was sitting next to her. A music box was on the table, and sitting on top of the music box was a little monkey wearing red Persian robes, holding a pair of cymbals. Christine slowly sat up as, at last, the memories from the previous night returned to her.

Replacing La Carlotta as the lead Soprano had only been the first of many strange turns her day had taken. Raoul, now a powerful Viscount, had returned to her that night. It was the first time in years she had seen him, and he had changed. He was harder than she remembered, and had eyed her with what had given her deep concerns. She had agreed to go out with him to dinner, and would have followed through with it if not for Erik. Her angel, her teacher, had come to her room and taken her...taken her where?

Christine slowly climbed out of the bed and went to the carpet that covered the doorway. She pushed it back and entered the main room of Erik's home. Looking around, Christine half expected everything to be gone, but it was all there. The lake, the boat, the candelabras, the mirrors, the paintings, the sheet music, the writing desk...and sitting at the writing desk was the man; her angel, Erik.

She smiled. "I thought it had all been a dream."

Erik turned from his work and smiled back at her. "Not quite, my dear," he called to her. "Would it have been better if it had all been a dream?" He seemed almost nervous asking.

"No," Christine responded quickly. "I don't think it would have been."

Slowly, Christine crossed the room, heading towards Erik. She flinched when she saw the cabinet with the golden rug out of the corner of her eye. Erik was right when he had told her that she hadn't been ready to see it. Perhaps she never would be. As wonderful as he had been, that statue had caused her more concern than anything else that night. One day she would ask him about it, but she didn't think either of them were ready for that conversation. Thankfully, Erik had returned to his work and hadn't seen her flinch. "What are you working on?" she asked.

"Letters," Erik responded without looking up. "One for André, one for Firmin, one for Carlotta, and one for the Viscount."

"What will they say?"

"They are being informed of a few changes that will be made at the opera house." Something about his voice seemed different, almost distant. Christine began to wonder if she had somehow upset him. There was only one way to know for sure.

"Erik," Christine began.

He seemed to jump when he heard his name called. "What is it, Christine?" he asked, regaining some of his composer. Even directly addressing her he didn't turn around.

Knowing there was no easy way to ask, Christine just went for it. "Are you...mad at me for something? Have I done something wrong?"

At last, Erik turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed with confusion. "Why do you ask that?"

"You just seem...distant this morning." Christine came to stand behind him. She placed a hand on his shoulder. He seemed slightly uncomfortable and tense under her touch. Instantly, she dropped her hand away as she thought about the night before, the hug he believed he should never have given her. Perhaps that was why he seemed like he was acting this way. Maybe he was trying to push her away.

"It was a long night last night. It appears you were more missed than I had originally thought you would be. The Viscount had the entire opera house torn apart looking for you."

"No one came down here, did they?" she asked in a worried voice.

"Of course not," Erik scoffed. "It's impossible for anyone to find this place without my guidance. They'd be lost in the bowels in a matter of minutes if I weren't leading them. Besides, if they had found us, do you think you would still be here? Or I?"

"I suppose not..." she responded in relief. "I'm glad they didn't find us."

Christine wasn't sure why, but for some reason, the thought of anyone finding Erik's hidden home made her nervous. She had a feeling that the managers (and the police, for that matter) wouldn't take too kindly to learning that a masked man was living under their opera house. _No,_ she corrected herself, _Not their opera house._ _This is Erik's opera house._ Since he had explained that he had been practically running the theater from down here, Christine had come to accept Erik as the true manager of the Opera Populaire.

Christine studied Erik's face as he returned to his work. The half that she could see, the half that wasn't covered by the mask, was handsome and unmarred my any imperfections. His face didn't even seem to be lined with wrinkles of any kind. So why did he wear that mask? Was it so Christine wouldn't recognize him? That seemed crazy. She didn't believe she knew anyone with the name Erik. Suddenly, she found herself gripped with a strange curiosity. Christine _had_ to know what Erik was hiding under that mask.

Tentatively, Christine reached a hand around to the masked side of his face. Her heart rate increased as her fingers brushed against the surprisingly inflexible material. She was at the edge of his mask. Erik didn't react. He didn't know what she intended to do, and he trusted her enough to think that she wouldn't. Christine hesitated. Did she _really_ want to do this? Erik must have his reasons for wearing the mask. If she took it off, would he be angry? Perhaps she should just ask to see why he wore the mask...

The last thought came a moment to slow. Her arm had acted on instinct, and as soon as her fingers had purchase, she pulled away, mask in hand. 

Erik pushed her away as hard as he could. As she fell to the ground, he turned his back on her. "CHRISTINE, NO!" he shouted furiously. He clasped a hand to the unmasked side of his face as Christine looked down at the white mask.

What had she done? He had never before raised his voice at her, not in any of their lessons. Even when she failed to understand something he had had unending patience. Christine had crossed a horrible line, she knew, and may have done irreparable damage.

"What were you _thinking_? You fool! Why would you do this?"

Christine's eyes filled with tears. "Erik..." she whispered, feeling the fragile trust that had grown between them the night before shatter.

"What were you hoping to see, Christine?!" he screamed at her.

"I just...I wanted to know why..."

"Why I wore the mask?!" he shouted, turning back to her. His hand covered whatever it was he didn't want her to see. "Why do you think you need to know that?!"

"I didn't know...maybe you were someone from my past...and I just wasn't remembering you..." Christine responded in a shaky voice, unable to look up at him. "I'm sorry, Erik. I didn't mean to make you angry..."

Erik took a deep breath as he came back towards her, sliding to the ground next to her. Christine flinched away, afraid he might hit her in his anger. Instead, he spoke to her, his voice softer than before, filled with sadness. "Christine, you don't understand what you've done. No one can ever look upon my face... Those that do..." He looked at her with a mix of compassion and rage in his eyes. The broken trust was evident in them, and Christine could not hold his gaze for longer than a few moments. She looked away. "If ever you saw my face, Christine, you would grow to hate me. As all the others have." His voice was broken.

Christine held his mask out to him. Erik took it from her and turned his back. When the mask was put back in place, he spun to face her again. He climbed to his feet and held his hand out to her. Christine took it, wincing when she felt where her palm and scratched against the uneven ground in her fall. Erik's eyes narrowed as he held her hands gingerly in his, studying the scratch. Without a word, he led her from the room, through a doorway, and into a small bathroom. He dug through a cabinet, finding a little wash cloth and some bandages. After rinsing the cloth in warm water, he gently brushed it over the scratch, cleaning the blood and stones from them. He then wrapped her hand in the bandage, all in complete silence. When that was done and he had put everything away, he led her back into the main room.

"You need to return to the world above." His voice was devoid of emotion. "Before they come looking for you."

Christine let him lead her to the dressing room. When she was safely back, he turned and left without a word. After he was gone, Christine turned and collapsed into the vanity chair, putting her head on her arms and allowing herself to cry.

She was surprised to find that she wasn't afraid of Erik, in spite of his reaction. Beyond anything, she was angry with herself. How could she be so stupid?! Christine had known there was a reason Erik wore the mask, and that it was a personal one. She had no right to pry into his life so soon after finally meeting him, and had betrayed his trust by trying to see what he was hiding under it. 'You fool' he had called her. "I am, Erik. I am a fool. And I am so sorry."

There was a knock at the door. Madame Giry's voice called to her. "Christine, are you in there?"

Taking a deep breath Christine called out, "Yes, Madame. I'm here."

The door opened and she entered the room. Madame Giry ran to Christine and swept her into her arms. "I've been so worried about you! We all have! When you didn't come down to go to dinner with the Viscount, we began to search, but we couldn't find you!" Madame Giry pushed back, and took in Christine's red, puffy eyes, tear-stained face, and bandaged hand. Her eyes widened as she demanded, "What happened?"

For a moment, Christine didn't respond, sitting in silence. Did she tell Madame Giry about her night with Erik? Could she trust this woman with her secret? Christine knew she had to tell someone, and who better than the woman who had treated her better than a daughter? So, she told the story to Madame Giry. How Raoul had behaved when he had visited her, how he had changed. How Erik had come to her room and how she had gone with him. She left out their duet and the wedding dress, but she did tell her about the incident with the mask.

Madame Giry listened compassionately, but her gaze darkened as the story continued. "Why would you take off the mask?" she whispered, shaking her head.

Christine felt herself break down again. "I didn't know! I mean...I knew I shouldn't, but..."

"My dear, one of the most dangerous things in this world is curiosity. It is one of the deadliest curses humanity has been given."

She looked up at Madame Giry with wide, terrified eyes. Christine knew what she was hinting at. "Did I find him just to lose him?" A sudden dread filled Christine at the thought of not having her mentor coming to her again. Especially now when her future was so uncertain and she needed his lessons desperately.

"I don't know, my dear," responded honestly. "I know Erik has a very hard time trusting others given his...history. And that mask is a large part of the reason why. He may come back to you, Christine. But I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't." Madame Giry hugged Christine. "I'm sorry, child. But we need to get you cleaned up." She helped Christine get to her feet.

"Why?"

"Carlotta has returned to the opera house. And she wants to speak to you."


	5. Carlotta's Return

Madame Giry helped Christine clean up her face, then took the bandage from her hand. It would be too strange if Christine turned up the morning after having gone missing with an injury, so Madame Giry told her to keep her hand turned palm-in. The bandage would make it too obvious. Once she was presentable, Christine let herself be led from the dressing room, down the hall, and into the manager's office. Sitting at Firmin's desk in the manager's chair was none other than La Carlotta herself.

Her fiery red hair was pulled in a bun so tight, it looked painful. She was dressed in a fluffy, gaudy, pink dress. Her angry, green eyes seemed to pierce Christine, willing her to deliver up her secrets. Christine tried to mask her unease when she saw a letter - Erik's letter - sitting on the desk. Carlotta waved Madame Giry away. The older woman squeezed Christine's hand before unwillingly leaving Christine and Carlotta to their private conversation.

"Good morning, Signora," Christine smiled brightly at Carlotta, trying to be as friendly as she could. She knew how picky Carlotta was when it came to titles. Christine still remembered the stagehand she had exploded on when he had called her "madame."

The woman in the pink dress didn't return her smile, gazing at Christine with a withering glare. "Only a few moments ago, I received a letter signed by the infamous Opera Ghost," Carlotta hissed, glaring across the desk at Christine. "Apparently, he seems to think that my time here is ending and that you will be my replacement. Do you know what I think?"

"I'm not sure, Signora," Christine gulped nervously.

"I think there is no way a nobody like you will ever replace a leading Soprano." Carlotta climbed to her feet. "I don't care how good people think you are, you are nothing more than a chorus girl who has managed to receive her five minutes of fame. Nothing more is going to come from last night. Nothing more, do you understand?"

Christine thought of how Erik and Raoul had both responded to her performance. How the audience and even the managers had responded. She had a feeling that something more was definitely coming. A lot more. Thinking that responding with this would only lead to more trouble, Christine meekly bowed her head and responded, "I understand, Signora."

"I don't even know why they would have let you sing at the gala, anyway," Carlotta sneered, not content in letting Christine leave.

"The managers didn't want to have to refund a full house, you see. And it didn't seem like you were coming back..."

"Did I not have good reason to leave?" she screeched in response. "You have been here long enough to know that I was right! Things like that rehearsal have been happening for too long! I had the perfect reason to leave!"

"That's not what I meant, Signora! It's just that, you left and they didn't want to lose money! It's all about profit, after all."

The new managers had come from new money, Christine knew. And if there was anything Christine understood about people from new money, it was that profit was the only thing they cared about. They had achieved their riches, and letting go even a single franc.

"You stupid little chorus girl, don't you think I know that?!" Carlotta hissed. She crossed the room and grabbed the front of Christine's dress. She held Christine so close, she could smell the perfume Carlotta wore. It was an sickly sweet mixture of cherries and apples. "I have been making this opera house a profit for five seasons! If it weren't for me, Opera Populaire would have sunk _years_ ago!"

"I know, Carlotta, I've..."

"Carlotta? _Carlotta_?! You forget your place, you stupid chorus girl! To you, I am Signora, not Carlotta. You are beneath me! You have no right to use my name without proper titles!"

For the second time that day, Christine found herself thrown to the floor. This time, however, she did not let herself show fear. She would not give Carlotta that satisfaction. Steadily, acting as if nothing had happened, Christine got to her feet. "Pardons, _Signora_ ," she hissed icily.

Carlotta charged at Christine, ready to hit her, but before she could close the distance between them, the door was thrown open.

"There was another letter!" André ran into the room, with Firmin, Raoul, and Madame Giry in tow. He was holding a slip of paper in his hand above his hand. Christine let out a sharp breath. Carlotta wouldn't risk her image with the managers and the patron by hurting her now.

When Raoul saw Christine, he came to her side and put his arms around her. "I was so worried about you, Little Lottie. I'm glad to see you're safe." He held her tightly, crushing the breath out of her. Compared to the comforting hug from Erik the night before, this was painful and uncomfortably long. When, at long last, he finally pulled away, he turned to face Carlotta. "Why was I not immediately informed that she was safely returned?"

"We were discussing important matters dealing with...work." Carlotta glared over at Christine. Her gaze screamed that their conversation was quite far from being over. She turned to André, all smiles and warmth. "What does the letter say?"

"The _Opera Ghost_ ," André spat the name, "has told us that in the upcoming production of _Il Muto_ , we are to put Christine Daaé in the role of the Countess and you, my dear La Carlotta, are to play the pageboy."

Carlotta's face darkened. She rounded on Christine, looking like a furious cat ready to pounce.

"He has warned us," André continued, not noticing Carlotta's rage, "that if we do not do as we are instructed, something horrible will occur."

Carlotta seemed unable to respond for a moment. Her fiery gaze was resting on Christine, as if it was Christine's fault that her roles in the shows at Opera Populaire were being taken from her. "I will not play a silent part! I have been the leading Soprano at Opera Populaire for..."

"Five seasons," Raoul interrupted. "We are all very well aware."

She glared at Raoul for a moment before turning her eyes back to Christine. "Just because _Christine_ replaces me in one gala does not mean she can have my place as the leading Soprano!"

"Why are you being so hateful towards me? Have I wounded your pride?" Christine responded angrily, unable to bite her tongue any longer. "The only reason you're so angry is because everyone's talking about a chorus girl now, not you!"

"How _dare_ you, you filthy little..." Carlotta raised her arm as if to strike Christine, but the young girl didn't even flinch. She would not give Carlotta that victory.

"Ladies," Firmin cried, stepping between them. It was one of the few times Christine was appreciative of Firmin stepping into business that didn't concern him. She might not have shown Carlotta fear, but she didn't want to be slapped. "Let's not fight amongst ourselves. It's bad enough we have this...phantom...trying to give us orders..."

"Perhaps, Messieurs, we should disregard these demands," Raoul offered. "Put Signora Carlotta back in her place as our leading lady, Christine as the pageboy." 

Christine turned to Raoul, confused. He looked as cold as he had the night before, his eyes filled with disinterest. Raoul took a step away from Christine, putting distance between them. She felt completely lost. Just last night Raoul had been planning on her performing in every gala from now until the end of her career. And now this? Christine's head spun uncomfortably.

"Really?" Carlotta smirked, placing her hands on her hips. "You don't want her to take the Countess?"

"Why do you think that?"

"It's obvious that the two of you are more than just friends. From what I have seen, your relationship has advanced well beyond what is acceptable..."

"No," Raoul said shortly.

"What of that stupid pet name then? 'Little Lottie'? And the way you rushed to her side, so worried about her safety!"

"The name was a silly thing from when we were children. It was what I called her then, and the name has stuck. And as for my concern...she is a childhood friend. But nothing more." He shook his head, laughing.

Christine bit her tongue. Would he still be so confident if she told them all how he could barely keep his hands to himself the night before? Christine could tell he was trying to maintain an image. That a rich Viscount would never have any interest in someone as low as her, a simple chorus girl. The thought of her being on his mind embarrassed him. He was ashamed of her.

How she longed to be back with Erik. At least before she had made him angry, he had been genuinely proud of her and treated her as an equal. The only person in the room who seemed to notice her frustration and confusion was Madame Giry, who came and took Christine's hand before she spoke up for the first time.

"Messieurs, we know nothing of this Opera Ghost other than the fact that he knows the opera house, probably better than any of us. We should follow his orders for now, until we can think of a safe way to defy him. It would be foolish to risk his wrath upon us."

"And what about my wrath, Madame Giry?" Carlotta hissed. "Does that mean nothing to you? If you keep me from this performance, or try to cast me as a pageboy, I promise to personally make your lives here a living..."

"ENOUGH!" André shouted. Taking a deep breath he continued, "It is obvious this Opera Ghost thinks he can control everything that happens at the Opera Populaire. I believe that if we give into his demands even once, we give him more firepower. If we start making our own decisions, making our own casting choices, he will learn that we do _not_ take orders, nor do we give into threats."

"Therefore," Firmin continued, catching onto what his partner was thinking, "we will be casting Carlotta as the Countess and Christine," he glanced over at her as he spoke, "as the pageboy. We will also be denying him his salary and Viscount, we will continue to reserve Box Five for your use."

"Monsieur Firmin," Madame Giry spoke, her face paling "the Opera Ghost's box..."

"Has not been used by him in the past," André interrupted. "I don't see why he needs it. If the Viscount wishes to view galas from the best seat in the house, then he shall be allowed to do so. And as for the Ghost's salary... We will only be paying those who do real work around the opera house. Should the Opera Ghost begin helping out backstage and being a useful member of our crew, Firmin and I will consider reinstating his pay." He smiled, triumphant.

"That sounds like a wise decision, Monsieur," Raoul nodded approvingly. "It will save me on my investment as well." 

Carlotta smiled brightly, sensing her success was near at hand. "This will teach him not to tell us what to do," she said confidently.

"You're wrong," Christine whispered.

Everyone turned to her. "How can you be so sure?" Raoul asked her. She looked in his eyes and saw that the same look he had had the night before had returned. She tried to go imagine it was Erik watching her, his gaze full of warmth and love.

"I just do," Christine responded, feeling fearful as Raoul watched her. "I've seen men like this before. If you deny them what they ask of you, they will make you suffer."

"You're only saying that because you want the lead role," Carlotta grinned, wicked.

"No!" she pleaded. "Please, you must listen! You have no idea what Er..." Christine barely caught herself and quickly rectified. "...the Opera Ghost is capable of. He could very possibly make our lives even harder than Signora Carlotta could."

Raoul shook his head. "You were missing all evening, Christine. You must be tired and don't know what you say."

She could see the way his eyes questioned her. He must have noticed her slip, that she had almost said a name. She needed to be more careful, or she would end up accidentally giving Erik away. Christine shook her head, removing the thought from her mind. She had more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.

"Please, you have to listen to me!"

"Perhaps it would be best to hear the girl out..." Madame Giry offered.

"Madame," Firmin interrupted. "Please take Miss Daaé and have her prepared for tonight's rehearsal. I think you should find the pageboy outfit already laid out for her."

"Yes, Monsieur," Madame Giry withered. "Come, my dear." She led Christine out of the room by the hand.

When they were a safe distance from the manager's office, Christine asked, "What's going to happen when _Il Muto_ opens? They have no intention of obeying Erik's orders..."

"I don't know, my dear," she responded softly, concern filling her gaze. "There are lines he has crossed before, and I am sure will cross again. I only know that should the managers go through with this, Erik will make good on his threats."


	6. Compassion

Christine found herself counting down to the day when _Il Muto_ opened. The weeks since the managers had decided to ignore Erik's orders and cast Carlotta as the Countess had passed by at a crawl. Part of what made the time go by so slowly was her fear of what Erik's reaction had been when he found out he had been disobeyed. No doubt he already knew and was planning his punishment. Madame Giry's stories and warnings had made her head turn with all the worst-case-scenarios. The second reason the two weeks pass at a snail's pace was the fact that he hadn't reached out to her since the night of the gala.

She knew when she had taken Erik's mask off, she had made him angry. True, she hadn't actually seen anything. It had all gone by too quickly, but she had crossed a line, broken his trust, by attempting to see. He must have wanted nothing to do with her, for even his voice had stopped coming to her at night.

Now, standing on stage with Carlotta beside her, rehearsing for _Il Muto_ , she her thoughts wandered. She found herself thinking of Erik, alone in his dark home. Christine remembered how safe she had felt with him. At the very least, she knew no harm would come to her down there. Up here, it was very uncertain. She was surrounded on every side by people who hated her and seemed eager to see her fail. Carlotta, Piangi – Carlotta's husband – even the managers who had turned against her at Carlotta's bidding. All would love nothing more than to see her fall from grace. And Raoul...what his intentions with her were, she didn't think she'd ever learn. He was inconsistent, and the way he looked at her... How badly she wanted to be back with Erik in his lair…

"You stupid, poor excuse for a chorus girl, why are you not paying attention?!" Carlotta's screeching voice brought Christine back from the safety of Erik's home to the stage, where prying eyes were always watching.

"Pardons," Christine responded, bowing her head in apology. "I was distracted."

"So it appears," Carlotta hissed. "You could never be a lead. A lead needs to be here and now, focusing on the present. Not on the past and not on what will come."

As much as Christine hated Carlotta, she knew that the _prima donna_  was right. She would never be able to hold her place at Opera Populaire, whether as a lead or a chorus girl, if she didn't focus. Shaking her head, she said, "I'm ready, Monsieur Reyer."

The orchestra conductor nodded to her and struck up the music. This time, Christine was ready. She performed every move exactly as it was meant to be performed, at the right time. Though she did it successfully, when rehearsal ended, she knew her mistake wouldn't be forgotten in a hurry. And never forgiven.

"If that stupid girl can't focus and messes up the night of the show," she heard Carlotta whine, "she will make me look bad!"

"No, my love," Piangi responded kindly. "You could never look bad."

Christine sighed, turned her back on the pair, and headed backstage. She stood by herself, off to the side and out of the way, watching as stagehands and cast members slowly disappeared to take care of business elsewhere. Christine was hoping to catch a few moments alone to practice without the judgement of her costars. Before she had the chance to return to the stage, she found herself stuck in an unpleasant situation. She had been cornered by Raoul.

"Christine, are you feeling alright?" he asked her, catching her as he back was against a wall.

"Yes, Raoul, I've just been…distracted, is all."

"Are you still worried about what the Opera Ghost will do at _Il Muto_ on Saturday?" he wondered. Raoul placed his hands on either side of her against the wall, preventing her from ducking away.

"A little bit," she admitted, squirming uncomfortably. "We don't know what this man is capable of. I think you and the managers aren't worried enough."

"And I think you're too worried." Raoul kept moved closer to her. He pressed his forehead to hers. "Don't be afraid of the Opera Ghost, Little Lottie. If he tries to hurt you in any way, I'll kill him myself."

 _Maybe it's not the Opera Ghost I'm so afraid of right now._ Christine thought. "I hardly doubt that will be necessary, Raoul. Besides, if he did do anything to harm someone, would the police force not execute him?"

The words tasted like bile in her mouth. A fear she hadn't known she'd felt crept into her. If the police ever did find Erik, would the kill him?  _She_ would never see him again, she was sure. He would most likely be locked away until he died. Just these last few weeks without Erik had broken her heart. A lifetime without him? She didn't think she could stand it.

"I suppose," Raoul whispered in her ear. "But I would oversee it. Little Lottie, there is no man in Paris who can protect you from him better than I can."

 _But who will protect me from you?_ She wondered, the chill from his eyes she had grown all too familiar with racing down her spine. Raoul attempted to kiss her, but she turned her face away. "No, Raoul, they'll see us."

"So what if they see us? I want you."

"Raoul, I'm a chorus girl, and you are the Viscount, the patron of the Opera Populaire. If you were to be seen with someone as lowly as I…"

"Hush, Little Lottie," he moved his hands from the wall. One gripped her arm and the other cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. The desire in his eyes scared her. His grip on her arm was painful.

"I must ask you to remove your hand from my arm, monsieur," Christine pleaded, looking him in the eye. "You are hurting me."

"Oh, come now, Christine," Raoul smiled. "I want you. You must feel the same."

"Viscount, I don't know what you feel for me, but when I look at you, all I feel is..." She tried to wrench her arm from his grasp, but he only tightened his grip.

"Is what?..."

"Your eyes, Raoul. They scare me," Christine whimpered. "There's a coldness there that I can't describe. It _scares_ me." 

"That's not fear, Little Lottie. It's uncertainty. Let me show you."

Holding her face firmly in place, Raoul placed his lips against hers. The kiss took her by surprise, and her heart raced as he tried to force apart her lips. A rush of adrenaline and fear surged through her as Raoul brought himself closer. Christine brought up her free arm and slapped him across the face. In surprise, Raoul broke the kiss and stepped away.

Tearing up, Christine cried, "I was right! I was right to be afraid. I tell you there is something in you that scares me and this is how you react?" She panted around the tears. "Leave me alone, Raoul. Please."

Raoul looked at her in surprise, his face beginning to redden from where Christine had struck him. "You will come to understand my passion for you is nothing to fear, Little Lottie. We will speak again soon." He smiled at her, turned his back, and walked away. Raoul hadn't seemed angry. In fact, he was almost...amused.

Christine sank to the floor and put her head on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Who _was_ this man that wore Raoul's face? That used his name? The child she had grown up with had been so gentle and sweet. This man…had he killed her childhood sweetheart? The Raoul that had once been, was he truly gone now? Her Raoul would never try to force himself on her like that.

As her shock faded, her fear of Raoul began to arise. He wanted her, badly, and it seemed he was ready to go to any lengths to get her. Tears began to well up in her eyes.

She didn't know how long she sat there, shaking, before she felt the presence. Someone was standing over her. At first, she stiffened, thinking it was Raoul, ready to speak to her again. No, that was foolish. If this was Raoul, he would have made himself known. Perhaps it was Madame Giry or Meg; one of them had come looking for her when she hadn't returned to the dormitory.

Whoever it was knelt down in front of her. She felt the person place a hand on her arm, gentle and reassuring. Then, they spoke. "Christine, tell me you're okay."

"Erik…" his name came out barely a whisper.

"I'm here," was his simple response.

Feeling his closeness, the sense of safety that enveloped her now,  Christine couldn't hold back the tears. All of her fears of what Erik would do when _Il Muto_ opened, her shock, rage, and fear over how Raoul had treated her, her anger with the managers and Carlotta…it all came out in a storm of tears. And her own loneliness. She rolled forward, falling against Erik's chest. She pressed her face into him as he wrapped his arms securely around her. Erik settled into a sitting position, cradling her against him.

"Erik, I'm sorry for what I did! I knew I shouldn't have taken the mask off… I betrayed your trust… Risked losing you… I've missed you, Erik! I've wanted you to come to me so I could tell you! But you've been so angry! Please forgive me!" she wailed.

"It's alright, Christine," he reassured her. "I'm not mad at you. I shouldn't have blown up at you that way." Erik's soothing voice washed over her, quieting her sobs.

"I won't do it ever again. I swear," she promised.

They sat in silence for a while longer. How long, Christine wasn't sure. She prayed for the minutes to slow so she could spend forever, safe in Erik's arms, but everything had to end.

"You will be missed soon," he whispered. "You need to return to Madame Giry."

"Erik, I'm afraid," she said, her body being wracked by shivers. "Raoul…he'll never forgive me for hitting him… I've insulted him by refusing him like that... He'll never leave me alone… He wants me for his own, and he'll do whatever it takes to get me... He scares me…"

"If you can take comfort in nothing else, take comfort in this. I am watching over you, always. I will never be far from you, Christine, and if he tries to touch you again, I will be at your side to keep you safe."

His words started to calm her, but not enough to slow her shaking. Erik kept his arms around her as he helped her stand back up. Christine fell against him. They stood together a while longer, Erik waiting for her to steady herself. "Will you be able to walk on your own?"

"I..I think so..."

Christine looked at him for the first time. He was even more mysteriously handsome than she remembered. Erik still wore his black suit, his cape, his gloves, and his mask. The mask that had so nearly ruined anything. And his eyes...those deep pools of green. Christine was instantly comforted the moment she looked into them.

"You're still shaking, Christine," he frowned down at her, the concern clear in his eyes. Gently, he took his arms from around her and reached for a clasp hidden under the collar of his dress shirt. He unlatched his cape and draped it carefully over her shoulders. "Perhaps this will help you."

Christine hugged the cape to her like a lifeline, feeling his warmth still on it. The cloth smelled like him, a mysterious scent that made Christine think of a lush forest. "Will anyone know it's yours?" she asked.

"Of course not," he shook his head. "You should hurry back. Before they come looking for you."

He stepped to the side, allowing her to pass. Before Christine walked past she said, "Erik, I know they didn't do what you asked but, please...don't do anything...brash. Please." Her eyes widened as she spoke.

"Are you afraid of me, Christine?" Erik asked. His eyebrows knitted together.

"Madame Giry...she...she's told me stories. And I don't know which of them are true. But I do know that I...I feel safe with you. And I don't to lose that safe feeling. So, please..."

Erik gently brushed the side of her face with his fingers. The touch made her stomach flutter. Christine reached up and touched his hand, pressing his fingers to her cheek. "I will do only what is necessary, Christine. Nothing more than that. I don't want you to feel threatened by me." 

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Erik." 

He looked at her a moment longer, letting his hand linger. Was that...longing in his eyes? After a moment, he breathed contentedly and nodded. Erik pulled his hand away before turning and disappearing into the shadows of the stage. Christine watched after him, hoping to get one last look at her precious angel. When she realized it was futile, she heaved a sigh and headed back towards the dormitories.


	7. The Phantom's Revenge

After her run in with Raoul, Christine was found herself looking over her shoulder. She was horrified of how Raoul was going to respond to her actions in the long run. She had slapped the Viscount de Chagny, Opera Populaire's patron. There would be a horrible price to pay, she told herself, and pay she would. Christine knew that Erik wouldn't let her be hurt. His promise of watching over her comforted her away from the fear of that. But if Raoul demanded she be fired and kicked to the streets, Christine doubted anyone would be able to stop it from happening. Not Madame Giry, and not Erik. Christine wondered how her angel would help her in the case of her losing her place in the opera house...

Yet as the days passed, her fear of Raoul melted away. The opening night of _Il Muto_ finally arrived. Christine was in a separate, smaller dressing room set aside for the secondary cast members not part of the ensemble. Madame Giry was with her tonight, helping her get her hair and makeup done for the show. Curtain was only a few hours away.

"The Opera Ghost will be there tonight, won't he?" Christine asked quietly, not wanting any of the other cast members around her to hear.

"I have no doubt of it." Madame Giry nodded.

Christine smiled at the thought. The prospect that had once filled her with fear now brought her joy. His promise to be reasonable gave her peace, and she longed to meet with him again, face-to-face, to feel his touch once more. Since their tender moment backstage, Erik had begun teaching her again. The night after he sat beside her, his voice came to her in her prayers. He invited her to return to her quiet place, where his voice coached her through new, more complex music. He kept himself hidden from her as he once had, though. When she had asked why he shied away from her again, he had dodged the question, bringing her attention back to their rehearsal. But tonight...she was determined to seek him out.

The smile was not missed by Madame Giry. "Once, the thought of seeing the Opera Ghost tonight gave you such a horrible fright, you had nightmares. Now it makes you smile. Is this about what happened with the patron?"

Christine flinched. She hated that Madame Giry had found out about her encounter with Raoul, but there had been no way around it. The Viscount had gripped her arm so tightly, he had left marks, and Madame Giry had found them as she helped Christine change from her costume after the fact. Christine, still slightly shaken, had only been able to tell her Raoul's name. She wasn't ready to explain the encounter as she herself was still working through it but ever since, Madame Giry had been trying to get the rest of the story out of her. Christine hadn't been forthcoming.

"I told you, Madame Giry, nothing bad happened," she lied.

"Did the Opera Ghost find you? Try to steal you away but Raoul protected you?" Christine looked at Madame Giry's reflection in the mirror, and before she could respond, the older woman said, "Or perhaps it was the other way around."

Christine turned around to look at the woman's face. "What makes you say that?"

"My dear, I know everything that goes on in this opera house almost as well as he does. I've watched you since you told me about your venture down to his lair the night of the gala, and you seem to have grown fond of him. He seems protective of you."

"How could you possibly know this?"

"Because I know him," Madame Giry frowned at her.

"You…you know him?"

"I was the one that brought him here. I found him as a child. We were both children. I was so young then, so naïve…" she sighed, almost wistfully. "I have seen what he was capable of then, Christine, and I know what he is capable of now. Erik has killed before. I've watched him do it."

"Why are you telling me this?" Christine whispered, watching her adopted mother with fear in her eyes.

"So you know what he is."

"I don't know what would bring him to..." she stumbled over the word, "to kill someone. But he's a good man. He wouldn't hurt me."

"Perhaps not. But he will hurt others. Christine, he will punish Firmin and André for disobeying him. Since he has been here longer than most others, he believes he owns this opera house, that he runs it. He believes he is the manager, and Firmin and André are puppets for him to conduct. If his orders aren't followed…it's possible he could kill again."

"He won't. Not tonight."

"You cannot know that for sure." Madame Giry shook her head.

Christine turned back to the mirror. "He promised me. He wouldn't do anything more than he needed. He won't hurt anyone tonight."

"What is too much for you isn't the same as it is for him, Christine. You must understand..."

"We should hurry and finish. I need to be on stage before curtain," she cut Madame Giry off, glaring at her in the mirror.

She knew the older woman meant well as was trying to help her, but Christine had faith in Erik. He had sworn to her he wouldn't go too far. Whatever her intentions, Christine wasn't going to let her drive a wedge between her and the one man who had made her feel safe and comfortable since her life had taken its drastic turn.

A bit later on, as Christine worked her way to the stage, she saw Raoul coming towards her. He come to a stop in front of her and smiled. His mouth tilted upwards, but once again, his eyes showed his true feelings.

"I trust you will do well tonight, Little Lottie, even though your part is small and has no lines." He took a strand of her hair and twirled it around his finger.

"Viscount, I must ask you to stop calling me that," Christine said, shaking. "The only person who could use that name was someone I fear no longer exists."

He frowned theatrically at her. "But I'm still here, Little Lottie." Raoul smirked. "Can't you see me, standing in front of you?"

"No," Christine shook her head. "You may have his name and wear his face, but the Raoul I knew is gone. He would never say and do the things that you do. Now, Viscount, you'd better hurry to your box. The show is about to begin."

Raoul's smile became fixed. "Alright, dear Little Lottie." He leaned close, breathing her perfume. "I'll find you after the show." The Viscount dropped the strand of her hair back in place and turned, striding away.

Christine let out a deep breath and headed towards the stage, taking up her starting position behind the curtain. She listened to the cast members acting as the gossipers as they recited their dialogue, counting the beats in her head. Then the curtain opened, Carlotta took the stage, and the real show began. For a while, things ran smoothly. Christine flew through her steps, ensuring every last movement was flawless so as to not risk Carlotta's anger after curtain call. After a while, Christine began to forget her worries about Erik and Raoul, instead finding joyful distraction in playing her role. The laughs of the patrons at the absurdity of the comedy fueled her onwards.

And then, not even halfway through the first act, the show came to a screeching halt. From the balcony above the theater reserved for crew members trying to get to the catwalks above the stage, came a booming voice. Even hidden behind the grand crystal chandelier the Opera Populaire was famed for, Christine recognized Erik's voice as it echoed through the hall, silencing the orchestra, Carlotta, and the giggling audience.

"I gave you simply instructions!" he thundered. "Where they really so unreasonable, so difficult, to obey?! Remember when disaster strikes that I gave you fair warning!"

Every head in the audience turned, looking for the source of the voice. Christine knew they wouldn't be able to find him. She had experience in this. When Erik didn't want to be see, he would not be seen.

"The Opera Ghost…he's here…" a cast member hissed.

Meg, who was on stage to Christine's right, was staring at the chandelier with wide eyes. "The Phantom of the Opera,"

Madame Giry's warnings from earlier that evening came back to her. "Please don't hurt anyone," Christine pleaded.

Carlotta, hearing her voice, rounded on her. "You are not meant to speak, you stupid chorus girl," she hissed. "Not another word from you before the night ends!" She turned swiftly to the audience, gave a small smile and gleeful laugh, then floated to the side of the stage where she had her seamstress waited. She sprayed her throat with Carlotta's special coating she used to prepare her voice.

Not letting the _prima donna's_ words get to her, Christine retook her position as Carlotta returned to the stage. She gave quick instruction to the orchestra who struck up the song again. The  _prima donna_ opened her mouth and began to sing. 

She turned to Christine, a false smile on her face. ** _“Serafimo, away with this pretense! You cannot a-speak, but kiss me in my husband's ab-HOOO!”_**

Carlotta's voice croaked like a frog, completely failing her. Everyone stared at her, their eyes wide with shock. Even Christine, who prided herself on never breaking character, couldn't keep her face clean of emotion. Eyes full of terror, Carlotta moved on to the next verse. _**“Poor old fool he makes me laugh! Ha ha ha HOOO HOOO HOOO!”**_ Her voice failed her for a second time, faster and harder than it had before.

"MY VOICE!" she screamed, panic overwhelming her. "WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY VOICE?!"

 _She's lost it!_ Christine thought. _Her voice is completely gone!_  

She glanced back to where Erik had made his announcement. It was far too coincidental, this timing. Carlotta suddenly losing the ability to sing after his threat? Her eyes wandered over to the seamstresses, one of whom still held the bottle of throat spray tightly in their hands. What had Erik given her?  

In front of them, audience laughed wildly. The curtains whipped shut as Carlotta was escorted off the stage, crying, desperate. From beyond the curtains, Christine could hear the managers speaking to their patrons as their laughter subsided. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, please forgive us for this…small delay!" Firmin's voice carried to the back of the hall.

"It seems our dear Carlotta has strained her voice! Do not be alarmed, however! The show will begin again in a few more minutes. When _Il Muto_ resumes, the role of the Countess will be played by…" André poked his head backstage, found Christine still in her place, and grabbed her by the wrist. He yanked her out on stage.

Firmin didn't miss a beat as he proclaimed, "Miss Daaé!"

The audience showed their support by applauding loudly. Christine fearfully turned her gaze to Raoul in Box Five who was watching her with a disinterested look on his face. He didn't seem to mind any of what had happened. In fact, he almost seemed bored. 

"Go, girl! Get changed immediately!" André hissed at her, furious, before he returned his attention to the crowd. His voice was pleasant again, his smile back in place. "For now, I would ask Monsieur Reyer, our orchestra's conductor, to begin showing the ballet from act three of tonight's performance. We are sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused you. Please, on behalf of all of our staff, enjoy the rest of the show."

By this time, Madame Giry had brought Christine back into Carlotta's dressing room.

"I told you we had nothing to worry about. Erik has gotten his revenge on Carlotta and the managers, and I will be playing the Countess. It's over, Madame Giry."

"I pray you're right, child. More for your sake than mine. But for now, get out of that costume. You need to be backstage before the ballet ends."

Christine had only just managed to change into the simple white dress she would be wearing under the Countess' heavy gown when a stagehand charged into the room, breathless. Furious, Madame Giry rounded on him. "Have you no etiquette?! Barging in on a woman's private dressing room during a costume change! You could have seen..."

Unfazed, the stagehand cut her off. "Madame Giry, Mademoiselle Daaé, I must ask you to stay here," he panted. "There's been a terrible accident."

"What's happened?" Christine asked.

"The head stagehand, Buquet... He...he dropped from the catwalks."

"Is he...all right?" Madame Giry hissed.

The stagehand shook his head. "He had a rope around his neck when he fell. Joseph Buquet is dead."


End file.
